Toe to Toe
by Lesera128
Summary: London. 1860. After unexpectedly winning a boxing match, Angelus catches the attention of a powerful witch named Temperance Brennan, who isn't happy that she lost money & confronts him about it. Bones/Angel crossover. AU. One-shot. Complete.


**Toe to Toe**

**By:** dharmamonkey & Lesera128

**Rated: **M

**Disclaimer: **Here we posit our normal rigmarole. No, we don't own anything from _Bones _or _Angel... _or anything else. Yes, we're wrecking what havoc we can with these characters that we don't own to create an awesome story. But, since it's only for the purposes of creative enjoyment and amusing distraction, we think we're okay. Are there any other questions? No? ::blinks:: Good. Then moving on―.

**Summary: **London. 1860. After unexpectedly winning a boxing match, Angelus's victory catches the attention of a powerful witch named Temperance Brennan, who isn't happy that she lost money because of him. A heated confrontation ensues. Bones/Angel crossover. One-shot. Very, very AU. Complete.

**A/N: **_This piece represents a first for Dharmasera, Inc.* in a number of ways. While it's true that _**Lesera128 **_has written in a number of pieces in other fandoms, this is her first time working with a crossover of sorts. Also, this is the first time that _**dharmamonkey **_has set foot out of the safety of the Bones fanfic wading pool. So, we do hope that this piece isn't too displeasing. For the most part, we feel it safe to say that there is very, very little characterization here beyond what was needed for a bit of epic hotness that ensues. That is the primary point of this piece, so those that are looking for grandiose plots or whatnot...well, it's not here. So...ummm...yeah. We skipped over anything that wasn't directly necessary to achieving that goal. Much like some of our other joint pieces, we know this one-shot will not be for everyone (particularly for those who get annoyed at the stretching and reshaping that's necessary to fit Brennan into the 19th century of Angelus' world), and that's okay. But, for those who are into this sort of thing, we hope it doesn't disappoint. Now, on with the show..._

_* For Angel readers not familiar with us, "_**Dharmasera**_" is a portmanteau that we use to refer to the collaboration between _**Lesera128 **_and _**dharmamonkey**_. You probably deduced that, though. (We just really wanted to use the word "portmanteau" in an actual sentence, so...okay, we'll stop now.)_

_UNF ALERT: For those of you who've never read a Dharmasera piece, you're about to find out what we've become well-known for in Bones fanfic circles. This piece is rated M for a reason. It has the kind of adult content that can get a bit messy, even if you're just sitting in your easy chair reading this story. If you're an adult that doesn't like reading about adults engaged in very adult activities, or you're not an adult (as such things are legally defined where you are), don't read this story. If you like reading about adult encounters between adults, then read on, folks. This baby's gonna be hot._

* * *

Angelus awoke to the sounds of them screaming.

He wasn't quite certain how he'd ended up in this place aside from the fact that most of the trouble he'd gotten into had started because he was looking for a way to pass the time.

He'd been bored. Darla had left London for three weeks on one of her annoying but semi regular jaunts to check in with the Master whenever he snapped his fingers and she went running. The end result had been that Angelus had been left to his devices. For the first fortnight, he'd done what he'd spent most nights for the past hundred years: trolling the streets and dark alleyways of whatever city he was resident in and feeding on the bodies of the living. Though his encounters with the amusing citizens of these cities ended in a long, belly-filling drink of warm blood, Angelus had come to enjoy the actions that served as appetizers to his bloody feasts—stalking his victims for a little while, at least long enough to frighten them within an inch of their lives as he filled his nostrils with the deliciously satisfying, almost citrusy, smell of human fear. In the cases where his prey were of the womanly variety, he often enjoyed taking more than a simple taste of the other gifts their bodies had to offer before he used them in other ways. Quite often, he found a short-lived, but worthwhile release in the pleasure of their warm, vibrating human flesh as he used more than one orifice to take his pleasure―although he so rarely found any of them that could even come close to satisfying him sexually―before he moved on to the main course of sucking them dry before he happily discarded their now useless bodies and moved on to his next target to feed until daybreak.

But the hunt and the chase were somehow never as much fun when he was by himself as it was when he had a companion to share it with, and with Darla having taken leave of the city, after ten nights prowling London's East End and having his way with a score of young working girls he'd happened upon while wandering the cobblestone streets, Angelus found himself growing dreadfully bored. He needed something more, well, sporting. It struck him as a particularly terrific serendipity when he wandered upon a boxing tournament being held in a run-down theatre in Shoreditch.

So, lacking anything better to do to fill his nights, he entered himself in the tournament, just to see what it was like. He'd managed to win a small purse in the middleweight class after laying a heavy-jowled Welshman down on the floor, leaving his opponent with a broken nose, a fractured eye socket and flashing two fewer front teeth than he'd had when the match had begun. Angelus, on the other hand, walked away with a split knuckle and a swollen lip, both of which had completely healed about five minutes after he walked out of the theatre with his prize purse.

On his way out, he'd heard a couple of Irishmen—Dubliners both, he could tell from their familiar brogues—talking about another boxing tournament being held the next night on the other end of the city, near Covent Garden. Angelus made a mental note of it, and the following evening after he'd awoke and fed on an unimportant kill, arrived at a theatre on the West End. This tournament was arranged a bit differently: there were no weight classes, so all fighters, from the burliest longshoreman to the scrawniest wainwright, all fought in the same brackets. The sixteen fighters were seeded the brackets in accordance with the organizers' appraisal of their skill. Angelus was seeded number three in his bracket, and after handily defeating a strong but slow-footed, slow-fisted farrier from Marylebone and a lean, hard-eyed merchant seaman from Cork, he won his bracket, making him one of the last four fighters that had been left standing. The tournament continued the following night. His third fight, fought the second night, was against a bridge carpenter from Glasgow, a scruffy-bearded man with the same height and build as he, but Angelus—who entered the contest under the name Liam since it brought him some perverse sense of amusement—toyed with him for a few minutes, letting him land a handful of solid blows before dropping him with a hard right hook.

After that, it was down to just Angelus and one other fighter, Monroe, a mountain of a man from Bristol. Monroe stood at a foot taller than Angelus, and when both men stood side by side—their shirt-tails hanging out of their trousers as they'd each quickly dressed after each of their prior contests—a distinct laughter bubbled up in the crowd. Angelus felt his jaw harden briefly at the sound of the laughter, then a faint smile streaked across his face as he wondered how many shillings would be lost that night by those foolish enough to bet on a sure thing. The official directed to two men to their respective corners, and Angelus slid off his suspenders and peeled off his shirt, letting it fall to the floor as he flexed his back muscles and shook out his arms, trying to loosen up as he surveyed his opponent. Monroe was a giant man, all muscle, and as he stood there, sizing up Angelus, he growled, which made Angelus laugh, which in turn made Monroe growl again in anger that this little dark-haired man had the balls to laugh at _him. _

The bell rang, and the official left the two men to square off. Just for sport, and also so that he could get a feel for his opponent's capabilities, Angelus let Monroe give the crowd a show, letting the big Bristol longshoreman knock him down several times, driving hard, pounding punches into his shoulders before pulling him up again. After a couple of minutes, Angelus shook away Monroe's latest blow—a sharp left to the cheek—and surged after him, hammering the larger man's lower back, right above his kidneys, with his hard knuckles, then, having slowed him down, moved in with a feigned left jab to Monroe's gut before rearing back and landing a hard right hook against his chin. The last blow twirled Monroe around like a child's top, and the big longshoreman collapsed to the floor with a loud thud. The crowd uttered more gasps than cheers, and it was then that Angelus knew for certain that he had been bet against by most of the spectators. For some reason, he found that extremely satisfying.

Angelus slipped out of the ring and pulled on his linen shirt, leaving it carelessly untucked, and shrugged into his wool vest, which he neglected to button because the sweat was still beading on his skin from the exertions of his bout as he watched Monroe's handlers peel him off the floor of the ring. He smirked at the sight, hesitating long enough as he slowly looked away for his gaze to fall on a tall and handsome woman, standing at the ringside, in a stunning red velvet dress. For a fraction of a second, his eyes locked with hers, which stared back so icily he found it momentarily unnerving. After a moment, she turned away, and he made his way to the bursar to collect his winnings. The round-cheeked man in a bowler hat handed him an envelope of banknotes, which Angelus accepted with a cocky, self-satisfied grin as he wiped away a smear of half-clotted blood from his busted eyebrow. The cut was already closing up by the time he accepted the envelope and tucked it in the back of his waistband.

He glanced once more towards the ring where he had seen the striking woman in red, then shrugged at the odd encounter. Tucking a strand of his shoulder-length hair behind his ear as he made his way once more past the empty ring, he was quite sure that the only thing better than pummeling the daylights out of another man and being paid a pretty shilling to do it was celebrating his win between the legs of a beautiful woman. As he walked out of the theatre, he nibbled the inside of his lip and thought about where he might go about finding a tasty bit of woman-flesh to dip his wick in—whether she was willing or no—before he turned her into a late-night snack.

He jogged down the steps of the theater and rounded the corner into an empty, unlit alley. He was so distracted by his own thoughts and the excitement of his win that he at first didn't notice the woman and two men standing in the middle of the alleyway until he was nearly nose-to-nose with her. The moment he looked up and saw her—the woman in the red velvet dress with the pale eyes who had given him that hard, chilling stare just minutes earlier. He opened his mouth to say something snarky, but before he could utter so much as a single word, then suddenly everything went completely and totally black.

Blinking away the hazy memory as he struggled to piece together what had happened, the first blurry sight Angelus took in was of _her_…her, as she took the jeweled handle of the sharp silver dagger in her fist, gripped it tightly, and pulled it from the belly of the tall and lanky man whose blood now ran over her hands.

She was striking, with her long auburn hair pulled up into a chignon revealing a long curve of porcelain skin, and shapely back and shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist then flared again to curvy hips. The sight of her bared neck made Angelus' mouth water and his balls hitch—that is, until he realized he was strung up, his hands bound to ropes that hung him from the timbered rafters of the half-lit room—and he heard himself take a sharp breath as she turned around to face him, and he saw her face for the very first time. He knew she was beautiful at a single glance. He'd concede that much at least as he drank in the sight of her black charcoal rimmed blue eyes, rouge accentuated high cheekbones, and brightly painted red lips. He didn't know how old she was, but he guessed her to be no older than twenty-five or so. She was also, as he'd initially noticed, taller than most women—and he doubted that her height and bearing were all due to the boots she wore. She had a supremely confident and cultured way about her as she moved, a natural grace that told him this was no woman who stayed at home locked away in her parlor gossiping and relegated to childrearing and embroidery. No, as he stared at her, he immediately knew that she was no ordinary woman and that made his situation all the more interesting.

When the final strangulated cry of the man she'd just finished gutting fell away, her lips twisted into a satisfied grin as she said more to him than to Angelus, "And, that's why it's better to keep your mouth shut and not make such comments about your betters, George—particularly as if you'd ever have a snowball's chance in hell of finding out which hole I like having it stuck in anymore than your compatriot and partner James did. But, at least_ he_ had the sense to keep his dirty thoughts to himself, and that's why he simply had his throat cut. But, you, George...you had quite the little mouth on you—" Sighing as she looked down at the mess the man's blood had made on her hands, she was only distracted when she felt Angelus's gaze on her. Slowly, she lifted her gaze to him and met his eyes as she realized he'd awaken much more quickly than she'd anticipated. "It's always _so_ messy _this_ way," she continued, this time speaking directly to him with a tad of exasperation in her voice. "But, if they make it personal for you, you really can't let a slight such as that go unanswered now can you?"

Quickly, she pushed the now dead body she held with one hand away from her with a grunt. It collapsed in a sickening, slurpy dull thud at her feet. Taking her booted foot, she kicked it away on top of the second felled figure that lay before her. She wasn't able to affect much of a movement given how the tight blood red velvet paneled skirt of her dress clung to her legs that were covered to the knee in the heeled black leather boots she wore. The dress was a breathtaking piece, the dark red velvet skirts flaring out from her small waist while hiding her legs, The bodice was respectable, but fashionably chic for Victorian society. The red velvet of the skirts matched the material of the sleeves that clung to her shapely arms and met at her bodice in a v-pattern. The square-cut bodice, at first glance, was modest enough. The red velvet material bounded a black silk panel inset with black lace along the square cut hem that accentuated her upthrust breasts. Around her neck, she wore a stunning piece of garnets and silver filigree. The largest marquise-cut garnet sat right above the cleft of her breasts while matching earrings hung from her delicate lobes.

Angelus stared at her, transfixed by the way her pale, icy eyes reflected the dim light of the room and, moreover, by her slender lips that seemed permanently twisted into a dark smirk. He watched her roll the second corpse over with her boot, and he shivered a little at seeing such a beautiful woman behave so, well, lethally. But, after a couple of seconds, he became more and more aware of the way he was restrained, hanging from the rafters such that the muscles of his arms and chest stretched uncomfortably under his weight, and it was then he felt the anger begin to simmer in his belly. His cloudy daze began to fade, and the pounding in his head became more intense, and as the situation he was in became clearer, Angelus found himself deeply annoyed.

"It's _so _hard to find good help these days," she told him as she walked to a nearby table and retrieved a white linen handkerchief edged in Spanish lace.

Taking it, she lifted the dagger towards the oil lamp that burned in front of her, stared for a moment, and then began to wipe the blade clean using the white piece of cloth. After a minute or two, her repetitive motions had left the blade relatively clean, but she'd clearly sullied the once pristine piece of cloth so that it was almost entirely stained a bright red from how she'd cleaned the blood from the dagger. When she finally finished, she set the handkerchief down and turned around to face him once more.

Tilting her head, she looked up at the form that hung before her, each arm held tight by a piece of thick and twisted straw-colored rope that was wrapped tightly around his wrist. Arching an eyebrow at him, she said, "Not that I _need _to do things this way, but I don't like to show off unless I have to, so…just in case you were wondering, that's why I had need of the assistance from quiet James and mouthy George here―not that those are their names. Of course, I'd remember their names if I'd bothered to ask, because I have an excellent memory, but I never did because they weren't important beyond helping me to get your massive bulk here from Covent Garden―which, also in case you were wondering, is no easy task. You're quite the dead weight when you're unconscious."

As he stared at her, she took another step towards him and then tsked him as she took in the sight of him. "My, my…aren't you even going to start to struggle, here? I mean, if you aren't, I can't say that I'll be _that _surprised…because Darla _did_ always coddle you…calling you her 'dear boy'-this or 'my boy'-that."

Finally finding his voice as the annoyance he'd been feeling finally popped into a hot flash of anger, he lifted his dark gaze to hers and spat, "Yes, well, Darla always did have an ironic sense of humor. But, how would _you _be knowin' _anythin' _about _that_?"

Brennan pursed her lips for a minute and then sighed as she shook her head and answered, "I told her such pet names would keep you softer than you needed to be. And, now, it seems as if maybe I was right now, wasn't it?"

"Who are you, woman?" he responded, his words sharp and biting.

Stepping back from him, her blue eyes twinkled as she gestured with her hand and said, "Someone who knows more about you than you know about me."

"Obviously," he grunted. "I'm the one at a significant disadvantage it seems."

"Very good, Angelus," she nodded in approval. She took a step towards him and placed the back of her hand gently on his cheek as she said, "I was afraid perhaps they'd struck you too hard in the head and you'd perhaps gone as dotty as that poor Drusilla that you've been obsessing about for so many months. But, seeing as how you can at least form a coherent thought, to answer your question, since I'm not a woman who ever coddles her men―you can call me Brennan."

"Coddlin'?" he coughed, straightening up as best he could as he strained against the ropes that held him to the rafters. "What tripe." Narrowing his eyes, he cleared his throat and spat at her feet. "If you liked bein' evenly matched by a man who asserts himself, as you seem to be claimin', then why did you feel the need to truss me up like a boar on the roastin' spit?" With every word he spoke, his western Irish brogue rang brighter, his p's crisp as his broad vowels hung in the air. "You wouldn't know a real man if he were breathin' in your ear and rubbin' his hard cock up against you because he was ready to tumble you, lass, if you think any such man would ever let you string him up like a twelve-point stag at the end of a hunt." He grunted and flexed his arms as he once more pulled on the ropes. He felt his face flush in anger as he watched her eyes glimmer with a silent laughter that further infuriated him

"Ahhh, but you're strung up as such, aren't you?" she questioned him. "So are you automatically excluding yourself from that group, I suppose?"

"Heh," he chuckled. "Well, though I can't be sure, I have a pretty good idea that you only strung me up after you had one of your little boys club me over the head, which, now that I think of it, might just be the only way a frigid bitch like you might get a man into her bed. Were they practicin' their skills on me there?"

"Is this your way of asking me if I intend to have you in my bed before the dawn comes?" she asked him pointedly as she arched her eyebrows in clear interest.

"Well, sure seems as though you need a good loosenin' up with the sort of attitude you've been spoutin' for me." His tongue darted out between his lips, and he held it there for a few seconds as he considered his words, then it disappeared again. "Aye, seems to me you need a good fuckin'. And, sure, I'd be just the man who could help you with that there difficulty. You need to spend a night in bed with a real man. I think that'd solve a lot of your problems."

She stared at him for a moment, letting her tongue dart out from between her lips as she wet them in a way that mirrored his prior gesture before she spoke with a pleased grin on her face. "An interesting supposition that you may have a chance to test before the sun comes up if things go as I hope." She stopped for a few seconds as tilted her head again before she spoke once more. "And, by the way," she added as she traced her index finger along his jaw. "I consider the frigid bitch comment a compliment coming from a man like you." She stopped again before she added, "But, then you're not a real man, are you?" she wagged her finger at him. "And, don't think I don't know that. But, since I do know you want to know, there's only one reason why I chose to...encumber you thus."

"Aye?" Angelus snorted, laughter flickering in his brown eyes as he rocked his body back and forth, dragging the tops of his bare feet over the well-worn wooden floor, frowning as he realized that all his efforts had wrought him were a reddening pair of rope-burns on his wrists. "What's that? You didn't think you could handle me on even terms?" His mouth hung open as he tried to catch his breath after his futile effort to dislodge himself. "Huh? Is that it? Afraid I'm too much for you? You can't keep your hands off me, can you, wench? We've barely been talkin' two minutes, and you're already just about pawin' at me. You can't hide it. You want me. You want me, but you're afraid you can't handle me, so you've done strung me up his way to level the playin' field. Isn't it so?"

"Oh, no, no. Not at all," she laughed, letting her hand fall away from him as she stepped back and placed her hands on her hips. "Don't flatter yourself. I haven't met a single entity in over three hundred years that I couldn't handle...and that hasn't changed with me finally getting around to letting our paths cross and meeting you either," she gave him an evil smile. "No, the simple fact of the matter is...I knew if I made certain you were restrained as such while we had our little chat, it would piss you off. And, that's something I find very, _very _appealing given the fact how much money that little stunt you pulled at the boxing match cost me."

Pulling himself up again by flexing his arms, his mouth twisted into a sneer. "Why would you want to piss _me _off?" he asked. "I'm a very, very dangerous man, as you surely know. It's a bit reckless to poke a stick at the tiger when you're at the zoo, lass." He paused, then smirked. "Even if you do think that the cage bars are secure."

Brennan laughed sardonically and dismissively waved one of her hands at him. "You fancy yourself a tiger, do you?"she asked, rolling her eyes. "Well, it seems to me that you've got far, far too grandiose and colorful view of your own capabilities, seeing as how you're hanging from my ceiling in my home and there's not a damn thing you can do about it...unless I choose to let you go. Which, considering you cost me a fair sum of money tonight, I'm distinctly disinclined to do at the current moment."

He arched an eyebrow. "How much _did _you wager on me, if I may have the temerity to ask?" he grinned. "You can't blame me for you not placin' a big enough wager, especially with the odds as lopsided as I imagine they were in that last match. I bet they were four to one in Monroe's favor, that last turn."

"Don't flatter yourself," she laughed again. "The odds were twenty to one."

Angelus' eyebrows went up. "Twenty to one against?" he asked. "Come now―really?"

"Yes." She stared hard at him for a minute before her narrowed eyes widened, and her thin lips grew less severe. "Besides," she said. "I didn't lose because I bet _on _you. As you well know, if I'd done that after you damn near went for Monroe's jugular, I would've come away with my coin purse much heavier than it was when I entered the hall. No, I lost money _because _of you...but since you didn't fight fair, I intend to collect my winnings from you―one way or another."

"You say I didn't fight fair?" he chuffed. "What a load of shite. I fought that dumb ox from Bristol fair and square. Never judge a book by its cover, aye? You misjudged me, woman, pure and simple. I'm not takin' the blame for that. You were foolish in layin' your bet. Perhaps you're not a good judge of people as you think you are, huh?"

Brennan took a step closer to him and reached out and tapped her well-manicured finger lightly on his chest, "For the record, who's the foolish one to be taunting the woman who has you tied tighter than a nun's corset at those convents you so love desecrating, hmmm? Because, surely it's not me."

"What?" Angelus laughed darkly. "And what would you be knowin' about me and nuns and anythin' of the sort?"

"Oh, I know plenty," she said. "As I told you before, I know more about you than you do about me. Although, I do have to admit that you didn't catch my attention until _after _I'd placed my bet this evening...fighting under a pseudonym like that. Really, Angelus. How droll." She stopped and then took another step towards him, reached inside his shirt, and grabbed the chain that hung there. Brennan lifted it into the palm of her hand as she said, "Of course, once you took that shirt of yours off, and I saw this, I knew _exactly _who you were."

"And, how's that, lass?" he blinked.

"This ring, it's a moonstone signet that's more than two hundred and fifty years old," she said simply. "I knew it could only be you when I saw it because there's only one ring like this in the entire world."

"Well," Angelus said with a sardonic flash in his eyes. "I _am _a one of a kind individual, you know. Which you'll find out just as soon as you unfetter me, and we get that lovely little dress off of you." He watched her eyes narrow in clear interest at his comment, and he felt another tugging behind his navel at her reaction to his taunt. Smiling, he said jovially, "But, since you bring it up, what's my ring got to do with anythin'?"

"Because," she said simple as she took firm hold of the chain and snapped it from his neck with a severe tug. "I'm the one who gave it to Darla before she gave it to you. That's how I know what it is, where it's from, and who you were by wearing it as you did."

"You knew me by the ring I wear 'round my neck?" he asked. "Which was yours before 'twas Darla's?" He glanced down at the ring as it dangled on the chain and bounced against his chest. "This is an odd coincidence, indeed."

"Yes," she said simply. "I knew you for who you were, and seeing as how I didn't get the payoff that I thought I would for my evening's wager, and since the night's still young yet, I decided that now was as good a time as any to make our...formal acquaintance." She stopped and then said, "But, it had to be under the proper terms, you see."

"Ohh, and those terms included hanging me up like some new fancy geegaw that you bought to decorate your humbly luxurious abode, ehh?" he asked her.

"No," she chuckled again. "I told you why you're restrained as you are. But," she said tapping his chest lightly with her index finger. "If you ask nicely, I might be persuaded to set you free."

"You want me to _beg_ you to untie me?" Angelus asked her incredulously. "_Pish and tripe. _Nah...that, my good lady, you can forget about. I don't beg _anyone _for _anythin'_. Never have, and I never will." He paused and then narrowed his eyes as he added, "Besides, you talk a good game there, but in the end, you can only derive so much pleasure from the kind of discomfort you might be able to cause me trussin' me up this way. You'll grow bored of this soon enough―aye, this, I'm quite sure of―so don't even try to deny it. I have no doubts I'll be cut loose sometime shortly for one reason or another."

"Oh, you'll definitely be begging before the evening is over," she laughed. "That I can most definitely guarantee you. The real question is what happens between now and then."

A smirk danced across his lips. He let his mouth fall open and wiggled the tip of his tongue between his lips suggestively. His eyes skimmed Brennan's form from head to toe, admiring once again the shape of her, concealed though it was under the red velvet dress she wore. Angelus couldn't help but feel a raw, hard tugging behind his navel as his body instinctively responded to the way her ivory skin and pale blue eyes contrasted against the scarlet color of her dress, and the long, eminently biteable curve of her long, silky neck. He wanted her. He wanted to possess her―to fill his nostrils with the smell of her, to taste her on his tongue, to nibble at the baby-soft skin of her neck, to bury himself inside of her and fill her with him―before he had his fill of her and drained her of every last drop of sweet blood she currently had pumping through her delicious veins.

"Hmmm," he murmured before his eyes snapped up and narrowed at hers in sharp questioning. "What would you _want _to happen between us, Miss Brennan?" He swallowed as he watched something flicker behind her pale eyes. He leaned back in his constraints, bringing his weight to press on the tops of his feet as he felt the muscles of his chest being pulled so taut it burned. "Aye, 'cause see? I think you want somethin' from me that's got nothin' to do with pounds and shillings, and everythin' do with me poundin' into your sweet little snatch." He grinned wickedly. "Because you and I both know, if you just wanted your money, you'd have just had your boys over there rob me behind that theatre hall." After a moment, he added, "Or had robbed me yourself. You don't want my money. You want somethin' else entirely, don't you, you wench?"

She leaned her head in close so that her lips were close enough so that he could feel her warm and moist breath on his skin. "I already told you," she breathed. "I intend to take my winnings from you―one way or another―" Her body suddenly tensed and her words were cut off mid-sentence when she felt him lean his head forward―subtly he thought―and his mouth fell open again. Grabbing a handful of his white linen shirt, Brennan bunched it in her fists, drew it forward, and then slammed his body as hard against the wall as she could given the rather limited range of motion she had because of his restraints. She grinned in satisfaction as she saw his head snap back against the wall with a muffled thud. Taking a step away from him she again wagged her finger at him. "Nuh uh," she said. "There'll be none of that now."

Angelus winced as the back of his skull cracked against the wall, though it wasn't the physical contact with the wall that made him wince―it was the vaguely painful tugging low in his gut that signaled that he was getting very aroused by this mysterious woman and how she acted towards him. "What are you?" he growled, less because he was in any pain and more because he was beginning to find this strange woman's little game to be more than a little tedious. Tedium, he had come to learn, was the worst part of immortality. Anything could be endured for a certain period of time. But when one's past stretched back forty thousand days, it was imperative that something be found each night to break up the mind-numbing monotony of one's own endlessness. And this, this game Brennan was playing with him, it was growing painfully tedious. Angelus rolled his jaw from one side to the other as he stared at her, grunting in frustration as he realized the reason he found her game tedious wasn't because of the nature of the game itself, but because he wasn't sure how to properly—or actively—play it. And, he suddenly came to know that he wanted to play it...play it well, and play it _now_.

"You're no vampire or demon," he said thoughtfully. "I'd smell it on you if you were. You're human. But..." He hesitated, drilling into Brennan with a hard, appraising, slit-eyed stare. "You don't smell like any human I've ever met."

"That's because I'm not like any human you've ever met," she told him simply. "But, I'd like to know how _you _know that."

The corners of Angelus' lips curved up in a wicked grin. "Because," he snickered. "I can't smell your fear. Fear has a smell. I can always smell fear a mile away, and I don't smell it on you."

She considered his words and then shrugged her shoulders in a dismissive way. "I didn't bring you here to feel fear, Angelus. I have no fear of you, let alone your kind―and never have."

Frustrated by the way she'd tied him up, he couldn't shrug but could only flash his eyebrows in acknowledgment as he held silent for several long moments while he considered her answer. "You're a witch," he said, as the thought suddenly occurred to him. "A sorceress of the black arts. Aren't you? That is why you know what I am, but do not fear me. Because, while I know precious little of you, my good lady..." He chuckled at his own use of the phrase 'good lady' to refer to a woman who he knew was nothing of the sort—which, of course, was what made her so fascinating. "At least, so far. I know this, though—you're not foolish enough to think me domitable by sheer force alone. So, that you are not afraid of me in the least way, this means you know you have the force of magic to fall back on." He cocked his head to the side and narrowed his eyes. "Am I right?"

She pursed her lips and considered his words. Then, turning around, she walked back to the table where she'd left the silver dagger. Grabbing it, she walked back to where he waited for her and she came forward with a dangerous glint in her eye. She held out the knife so that he could see it, the blood red rubies, pure green emeralds, bright blue sapphires, and creamy, opalescent pearls that decorated its hilt twinkling in the light. "Beautiful, isn't it?"

"Aye," he replied, watching her carefully as she palmed the hilt of the blade in her hand. "'Tis beautiful." He narrowed his eyes again and then said, "Beautiful...and lethal, no doubt, just like its owner."

Her lips curled into another smile as she took the compliment for what it was and then spoke again. "It was given to me by my mother on the night I came of age during a Samhain ritual more than two hundred years before you were even born," she said thoughtfully. "It's one of my favorite possessions... and not just for sentimental reasons." She moved quickly, and soon the blade was at his throat. "It's highly useful as well. Do you know how many men, women, and children I've used this to kill over the centuries? Each time one of them wronged me in some way, I've remembered...and I've taken my revenge. Sometimes it was quick and swift like justice. Sometimes it was slower and more...involved...if I deemed their offense great enough. But, in between it, I've kept this dagger with me. Slit throats, gutted bellies, stabbed hearts, and many more creative uses in between―I even gouged one man's eyes out with it because he looked at me the wrong way when he gave testimony before the Inquisition at one unfortunate incident where I stumbled into a trial in France in the 1620s. When all was said and done, I started by carving his eyeballs out and tortured him for his slights on me before I finished the dialogue between us by slicing off his cock and leaving him to bleed to death." She stopped and then said with a bit of a purr in her voice, "_That_ was a particularly satisfying use of this particularly beautiful weapon."

"I doubt you've taken as many lives as I have," he replied, "though perhaps given your two-century head start on me, you might have come close." He leaned his head back, tensing and then relaxing his round, muscular shoulders as best he could given his position as he tried to jettison away the distinct sensation of arousal that tingled through his limbs as he thought of her murderousness and the artful torture she'd practiced with the sparkling silver blade. "But you'll never match me, woman. I slaughter every night. I've laid waste to entire villages, army barracks, and convents in a single night."

She rolled her eyes at his boasting. "Please, spare me the details of the way you waste your time idling the boring and monotonous nights away...especially with nuns." She stopped and raised her hand to tuck a strand of his hair behind his ear before she leaned in and whispered, "I don't know why Darla lets you waste as much time as you do with the nuns. Surely you must know that there's more fun to be had with a woman who knows what to do with the wonderful holes God put between her legs than to just ignore them or to pray to be saved from the want of doing something about them if they do acknowledge them when they're on their knees praying." She stopped and brought her finger to his lips and traced the curve of his mouth as she added, "As for me, I've always found much more...interesting and more productive things to do when I'm on my knees besides praying. And, I'm very good at it. Can you guess what it is?" she blinked at him prettily as she thrust her index finger into his mouth and let him suck on it for a moment before she pulled it away and lifted it to her own mouth. Her finger glistened with his saliva in the warm light of the fire and oil lamps that burned in the room. Her mouth curled into an evil grin as she slowly opened her mouth and inserted it, licking the taste of him clean away from her finger.

"Mmmm," she moaned. "Sweet. Very sweet."

"You think that's sweet?" he asked, jerking his chin up as he felt himself harden a little at hearing her words. "I can think of other parts of me that can offer you the sweetness you desire, lass. I can give you a nice bit of sweetness if you'll take the time to turn the tap. I'm told I'm sweet and creamy, with just a hint of sea salt. And, to be honest, as much fun as convents are, I've never found a lass in a convent who had a clue how to work her mouth on a dick. I suppose that's why they're in convents. If they were any good...in any case...if you'd like to give me the benefit of your many, many years of experience, I'd most definitely be willin' to consider it."

"Mmmm, most definitely sweet," she said as she considered his words. "But, what type of woman would I be if I let you bring me to my knees this early in the night? Even I have my standards, Angelus."

"Maybe later, then," he said with a grin. "All things in due time, aye?"

"Perhaps," she nodded at him. "For now, in either case, it's very satisfying, this sweetness of yours. Very satisfying," she chuckled as she stepped away from him again and then said, "Perhaps Darla wasn't exaggerating to me as much as I thought she was when she spoke of you in that context. But, then again, we both know that you can't always take Darla at her word, now, don't we? After all, it's not like I don't know any better than to trust a woman whom I first met in that London whorehouse of hers where she first learned to spin her tales, hmmm?"

"Darla?" Angelus choked, leaning forward in his bindings as the rough hemp tore into his wrists. "How do you know about Darla, anyway? Were you a workin' girl yourself or was it somethin' other that brought you into contact with her?" He paused and narrowed his eyes as he chuckled, "Don't tell me you were one of her patrons at that whorehouse. Are you one of those women that, havin' never been properly fucked by a man, turns to the affections of other women?"

"Wouldn't that just be quite the turn of luck for you if it were, hmmm?" she snickered. "But, I'm sorry to disappoint you, sweetness, it had less to do with pleasure and more with work that brought her into my sphere of influence. I knew her before, you see, and then again later...after she was turned. But, she still was quite the skilled trick-turner even after she came back from Virginia with her Master. Suffice to say, she and I had a good working relationship whereby she and her girls provided some much needed entertainment at my parties over the years." She paused and then said, "If you don't know anything else about me beside the fact that I'm quite dangerous—almost creatively so, when I want to be—it's that I don't share well...my toys or anything else. Understand?"

"So, what?" he asked. "Is that your way of sayin' that I one of your toys now? I'm not entirely opposed to the idea of playin' with you, woman, but if you want to play with me, this...'tisn't the way I play, woman. I need a bit more than _this_." He jerked his chin in the direction of one of the twisted ropes that hung him from the rafters. He was quiet for a moment, his eyes flickering with interest before he said, "Hmmm, then what have you two, lackin' anythin' better to talk about, been talkin' about me? Hmmm? Maybe she's told you how skillful a player I can be when I want to be?" His mouth twisted in a wicked grin as he saw annoyance crackle behind her blue eyes. "So, what has she told you about me?"

Brennan pursed her lips for a moment before she chuckled and said, "A great many things, but the only ones important right now are her claims about creativity...skills...and enthusiasm. She said you were always..._very _enthusiastic."

"Aye," he agreed with a toothy grin. "That I am—very creative, highly skilled, and very enthusiastic. So, what say you? Do you want to give it a go? Do you want to try me, woman?" He watched her eyes glisten in the dim light. "You know you want it. You want _me. _I can make you come in ways you never even thought to be possible. Hmmm. But, maybe you're afraid I'll ruin you for other men. Mmmm? Come on, tell me. I know you want to find out what Darla's been ravin' about for a hundred years? Come on, woman. Cut me down and see. Let me loose, and find out for yourself."

She paused and then said, "I could cut your head off with this dagger if I really wanted to."

"But you won't," he laughed, his confidence both infuriating and inflaming Brennan as he spoke. "Because then you'll have no more opportunity to have fun with me, since as it appears, you wish to make sport of our acquaintance. So what is it that you want from me, other than some sort of curious in-kind remittance of the debt you claim you're owed because I caused you to lose a bet foolishly laid by yourself on the outcome of a boxin' match you knew little about? You want to see how I can entertain you, lass? Give you a little somethin' to fill your evenin'? Or to fill somethin' else of yours that's been empty too long?"

She stopped to consider his words and then lessened her pressure of the dagger she held to his neck. She then gave a throaty laugh as she used the tip of the dagger to move down a straight line from the top of his chest towards his navel. "You tell me, Angelus," she said in a low, husky voice. "I'll admit, you definitely attracted my attention when you pulled that shirt of yours off right before your boxing match. You have a _very _pleasing form." She stopped just above his groin and then moved the dagger away and reached out to brush the top of his trousers with a light touch. Brennan's eyes skirted along the lines of his chest which she could discern underneath the white shirt and gray wool suit vest that hung loose and unbuttoned, and she remembered exactly what she saw—his hard, chiseled form, with his well-hewn chest muscles, round, powerful shoulders, firm, strong forearms and big, veiny hands which closed into tight fists as he readied himself to battle his opponent—and the warm pulse of arousal she'd felt upon first seeing him. "But, I've been around long enough, Angelus, to know not to confuse form with substance."

"I'm all about the substance," he said. "And you're just dyin' to feel and taste that particular substance of mine for yourself, huh? I think you want to test for yourself whether what Darla told you about me was true," he said, licking his lips as his brown eyes darkened in the few short seconds since he'd began speaking after feeling her blade through his clothes. "Darla knows I satisfy her like no other man—vampire, demon, or human—ever has, and you want to know what the fuss is about. You're a well-bred, cultured woman who obviously thinks for herself and makes her own judgements. You take nothing at face value. So, methinks you want to test this little theory yourself."

"Maybe," she told him after a minute and then she shrugged. "Or, maybe I'm just like you...bored. Maybe you merely stumbled across my path this evening and there was nothing more interesting to do to pass the time."

Angelus felt a tingle of desire pulse in his gut at hearing her words, and more so, the way she said them in her low, measured tone of voice. "If you want a good way to pass the time tonight," he said with a lusty glint in his dark eyes, "then you'd be a happier woman to untie me that I can bring to bear all the skills and powers I'm so enthusiastically able to bring bear so that you receive the pleasure I know you want." He stopped and then gave her a half-crooked smile, "No, that's not it. It goes beyond want, doesn't it, lass? You're to the point of cravin', I think. You crave what I have, what I can give you...and if you want it, all you have to do is let me lose, and I'd be more than willin' to attend to you."

Brennan's heart skipped a beat at his offer, and she knew she flushed as she considered it's implications. Still, not one to let him have a victory so easily just because he could read the want in her eyes and smell it in her body, she asked him, "And, how do I know that this isn't just your way of trying to talk your way out of your bindings? How do I know that I don't cut you free that you don't either walk out that door and leave me just as bored as I was before...or even more foolishly decide that you want to try to make a late night meal of me, which I can assure you, would be a very bad idea and a waste of time and effort at that."

"Because," he said with that crooked grin still firmly placed on his handsome face. "If you're as skilled and lethal with that there blade as you claimed to be just a couple of minutes ago, then I don't have a chance to get halfway to that door before you come at me with that little dagger." He paused as he narrowed his eyes again and the grin hardened a bit as he added, "Unless you were just blowin' smoke there, witch. Because even I've been around long enough and seen enough in this world to know that if you did do that, 'twouldn't be the first time some so-called witch wagged her tongue but didn't have the talent to back up her words."

Laughing again, she pointed in the vague direction of the two bodies that lay a few feet away from them. "I know you may have been mostly out of it before the first one died because he went so quickly, but the second one was a bit more of a challenge given his personal affront to me. He lasted longer than I thought, so surely you were at least enough awake to hear his screams to stand as proof of my skill with a blade."

"Then you've answered your own question there, Miss Brennan," he said, twisting his hips a little as he felt his balls begin to ache with want of her. "You're skilled with a blade. I haven't a chance at pullin' any shenanigans and slippin' out of your able grasp. You're got the situation—and me, aye?—well under control. So do yourself a good turn and cut me down, that we might finally be able to give a sportin' try at pleasin' each other this night."

She smiled again at his offer, her flush no doubt increasing with each temptation that he laid before her. "I'd never be so foolish to think that you'd _ever _realize the true control I could have over you if I wanted to," she chuckled. "And, don't think for a minute, I haven't realized you ignored my second point. What's to say that if I cut you lose, I flop down, throw my skirts up and my legs open, you rut at me like some sweaty farm animal, and then won't try to bite down on my neck right when both of us are about to come?"

"Ha," Angelus said with a shake of his head. "For one thing, I don't rut." His voice dropped a half octave and he said, "I'll drive you out of your damn mind if you give me the chance, which I'm quite sure by now you're dyin' to do." He cocked his head to the side and chuckled. "But why all the Kabuki theater, and these foolish ropes?" he asked, tugging again at his bindings. "I can tell you're not afraid of me. You know what I am, but you have no fear of me. I therefore must think, though I am not sure by what peculiar mechanism this would be the case, that you are immune from the effects of my bite. You cannot be turned. If you thought you could be, you'd never be able to hide the twinge of fear inside of you. It would be stinkin' up this room—and although I can take the smell of you here, it's not fear that tickles my nose because of you, but somethin' infinitely more pleasing. So, since we both know there's no such fear in your heart—why not let me loose? You know it to be the truth, as do I." He paused again before he added knowingly, "Besides, if you'd have been able to be turned, with a wit like yours, I daresay Darla would have tried to turn you already."

"Indeed," she said. "I can't be turned." She took a step towards him and tilted her neck slightly as she brushed her hair away. "That didn't stop Darla from trying once before, though, even though I warned her of the futility of such an effort as I've done you. Still, as you know, she was stubborn and wouldn't listen." She laughed at the memory. "Do you have any idea how irksome the scars her fangs left on my neck are? I can't tell you the amount of money I've spent over the years covering those marks up."

"Aye," he said with a faint snort, "but think of all the pretty scarves you've been able to fill your wardrobe with and excuses to visit the apothecary's shop for your feminine creams and potions." He thought of sinking his fangs into her porcelain-smooth neck, then pressed his lips together as he tried to shake away the pang of regret that he wouldn't have the chance...if she wasn't lying, that is. "So, it's as I thought, then. Enough with this bull-shite, please. I'm no fool, and neither are you. What is the game, Miss Brennan?"

She paused and then said, "The game is this, Angelus―a beautiful one in its simplicity." She stepped back and shifted slightly, readjusting her skirt as she smoothed it while she looked at him. The square-cut bodice of her dress caused her luscious breasts to heave up and down with each breath she took. Licking her lips she asked, "Do I have your attention?"

"You've had my attention, my good lady, since the moment I regained my senses after you'd had me clocked over the head by your lately-expired goons." He flashed his eyebrows. "I must admit, I felt a certain, aye―well, somethin'―when I saw you gut the second one, in case you're wonderin'." His voice fell to a whisper. "That made me a little hot under me collar."

She tilted her head and took a step closer. "Hmmm, is that so?"

"Aye," he murmured softly. "'Tis."

She reached out and leaned forward so that her jaw brushed his as she whispered, "And, now that I have your attention, do you like what you see, Angelus? Is there something I have that you might be wanting?"

"Hmmmm," he murmured, turning his head to feel her soft, warm skin drag across his face. "Yes. My heart no longer beats," he said with a grin. "But not _all _of me is dead. You have somethin' I want, lass, and though you may try to hide it, it's clear as day that I have somethin' you want, too. You've probably wanted to know whether there was truth to Darla's chatter for the last hundred years, and now you finally have your chance. 'Course, it's also surely no accident that you finally make my wee acquaintance and choose tonight, while Darla's gone from London, to make a play for me, huh? You and I've both been around enough to know that there are no such things as coincidences. You waited for Darla to take leave so you could have a go at me. Admit it."

Brennan raised her hand and skimmed her thumb underneath his cleanly-shaven chin as she leaned close and pressed her lips to his. A low hum sounded from his throat as she flicked her tongue across the cleft between his cool, thin lips, and after a moment, he opened his mouth to hers. Her tongue slid across his teeth and into the warmth of his mouth, glancing against his own tongue as each of them tested the other, their mouths grasping at one another until she ran out of breath and pulled away. She blinked, noting with a smirk that, while his skin was cold to the touch, the inside of his mouth was anything but, and she gave a quick nod in response to her own unspoken internal dialogue.

"Mmmm," she murmured against his lips before pulling away. "So, that's what it's like to kiss a vampire, hmm." She grinned, pursing her lips as she savored the taste of him in her mouth. "It's curious that, after three hundred years, you're the first one I've kissed." She leaned in and kissed him again, working her lips against his as she felt her skin flush and her heart begin to race at feeling his tongue tangle with hers. "Sweet, so sweet."

When they pulled apart, there was a strange look in Brennan's eyes as she stared at him for a minute. She pursed her lips and nodded again, more to herself then to him as she said, "Alright." She watched at him staring at her as she moved quickly, lifting the silver dagger high. For a split second, Angelus thought she might move to strike him after all, but when she used the sharp blade to cut the rope holding his left arm to the rafter, then moved to do the same for his right, he was more than pleased.

"I assume you can take care of the rest," she commented as she turned on him and walked towards the table to set the dagger back where it had lain before as he untied the ropes from his wrists, tossing the bindings carelessly to the floor as he stood up to his full height.

She hadn't finished talking before she heard a quick scuffling sound and a roar as he lunged at her. Her lips twisted into a curved smile as she merely raised a hand and made a motion with her thumb and forefinger as if to flick something away. A small ball of light flew behind her as she chuckled to herself. Turning around, she saw Angelus' face contorted in a predatory sneer as his fangs were exposed as he sped forward towards her with his eyes shining bright red. However, glowing bright blue bonds of energy―oddly enough the color of _her _eyes―twisted around his wrists and ankles and held him fast.

Sighing she said, "I suppose a demonstration was necessary, but how about we get past that now and you simply take my word for it from this point on, hmmm? Now, if this is your idea of how to spend the rest of the evening in sport so I'm not bored, fine. But, I can assure you, it will end worse for you than for me once I've laid waste to your sorry self, yeah?"

Angelus raised his chin and growled at her, then shook his head, shaking away the hot-blooded sensation that had driven him to bare his demonic face in the first instance. "So I was right," he said as his forehead smoothed, his yellow eyes faded once more to a chocolate brown, and his jagged teeth regained their human form. "You have no fear of me for a real reason. So, buildin' on that as a wee sort of foundation, where to from here?" He tilted his head back and swallowed, then leveled his gaze at hers. "I know what you want," he said. "And you know that I can give it to you, better than any man you've ever met. You took me tonight because you knew that I could take you the way you want to be taken. Let me, then. Give yourself to me, and I swear you'll never regret it. Mmmm?"

She considered his offer—not that there had really ever been any chance that she wouldn't take him up on his offer since she'd brought him back from Covent Garden with only that single goal in mind—and then she snapped the fingers of her other hand and the bonds disappeared.

Angelus fell back a little at the sudden loss of countervailing tension, then regained his bearings arched his eyebrow expectantly as he watched her and waited for an answer to his question.

"As I said," Brennan replied. "You tell me, Angelus. You tell me."

This time when he came at her again, it was with just as much speed but with a completely different type of goal in mind. He crashed into her body and the momentum of his body hurtling into hers pushed them towards the roaring hearth. They landed in front of it on top of a thick-piled oriental rug of bright reds, lush greens, vibrant blues, and rich purples intertwining in a very pretty design, Angelus collapsing on top of Brennan when the pair finally stilled.

"Do I have to draw you a picture?" he asked, perching himself over her as he thrust his hips into hers.

"You think you're some type of charming devil, don't you?" she grunted. "Well, I've news for you, Angelus. I've stood toe to toe with greater devils than you―including one who would claim to be the Devil himself―and I've come away unscathed even as we struck our bargains and saw them through to their natural conclusions."

Narrowing his eyes briefly at her remark, wondering just which devils she might have in fact duelled in centuries past, the thought quickly fled as he felt her body beneath him, her hips shifting against his as her gorgeous chest heaved with breath.

"You don't _want_ to come away from this wee encounter of ours unscathed," he said with an amused lilt to his voice. "In fact, if you did, then neither of us will have been well served by this bit of social intercourse, aye? You want somethin' here, as do I, and I daresay we both know that it's more than clever conversation."

He stopped talking, reached down, and gathered a handful of the silky smooth material of the bodice of her gown. He quickly reached for the clearly more delicate portion of the dress where the blood red velvet gave way to a more fragile black silk. Taking his hands and giving the fabric a firm tug, he ripped the bodice in two, a grin breaking across his face as his efforts uncovered a black half-corset.

"Black," he said, drawing his index finger along the edge of the corset, admiring the way the black satin with the whalebone supports thrust up her breasts and formed what seemed to him a generous and perfectly nibblable curve along the top of each. "I love black," he told her as he reached in with his hands and pulled her breasts free of the confines of the corset. "You've got incredible tits," he groaned as he felt the weight of them in his hands. "If your tits are this magnificent, I can't wait to see what the rest of you looks like. I'm goin' to make this so good for you, woman, you'll never be with another man again without thinkin' of me."

She leaned her head back and sucked in a breath as she felt his cool fingers close around her breasts. "Ohhhhhh..."

"Aye, black's my favorite color," he nodded as he moved his head down and began to kiss his way from her delicate collarbone down towards one of the breasts he held palmed in his hand. "Black and red...they both are, and here you are pretty as a picture in both just waitin' for me to pluck you, isn't that right, lass?"

When she felt his tongue wrap around her nipple, her eyes rolled back into her head slightly as she leaned forward to make his access to her body all that much easier. She sighed in pleasure as she felt his other hand come up and begin to palm the heaviness of her other breast.

"Mmmmm—" she moaned, her words trailing off as she felt a stab of want in her body as he continued to touch her.

"Mmmm indeed," he chuckled as he pulled his mouth away from her flesh long enough to look up and into her eyes. Her light blue eyes had darkened under his ministrations, and he grinned in satisfaction, pausing but briefly before bringing his head down again and laving her other nipple with the point of his tongue. He circled her pebbled, rosy flesh a couple of times, then closed his mouth entirely around her nipple, sucking gently before pulling away slightly. The vibration of his murmur against her skin tickled her in a not at all unpleasant way, which made her twist in surprise when she felt him take the point of her nipple between his front teeth and bite down firmly.

She groaned a bit before she managed to look up as he pulled his mouth away from her, and she mumbled, "I thought I said...no biting."

"You said no such thing," he replied with a lazy, confident grin, brushing a whisp of his shoulder-length hair out of his eyes as he looked down at her. "Besides, that was a lover's nip, not a bite. I know my bitin' and _that, _woman—that was not a bite."

"Mmmm," she murmured as she raised a hand and beckoned to him with one of her hands. "A lover's nip, ehhh?"

"Mmmm, why yes," he muttered as he leaned down and came closer to her. "But if you don't want to feel my teeth, I have other ways to drive you wild―should you be so inclined, that is."

"Promises, promises," she sighed as she took her hand and reached out for him. Grabbing a fistful of his shirt, she pulled at it and made a whimpering noise. "Consider me inclined, sweetness. But, just a bit of advice, if you're going to drive me wild, this is far too much cloth and most definitely not enough skin."

Angelus raised himself up and sat back on his haunches, shrugging out of his braces before pulling his wrinkled linen shirt over his head. He watched her blue eyes flicker and her mouth twitch slightly as she surveyed his lean, hard-muscled, shirtless form, this time up close as opposed to at a distance during the boxing match. When he laid back on top of her, she eagerly sought out his mouth. Their lips crashed against each other hungrily as she felt him shove his tongue into her mouth and demand entrance. She eagerly granted it to him, opening her lips wide as she drew him in deeper and deeper. However, seemingly uncontented with her concession, he reached out and curled his tongue around hers. Much as his body had tackled hers a few minutes before and she'd let him move her into a more submissive position, she was content to let his tongue plunder her mouth as he pushed it further and further into the kiss. He grew hungry for the sweetness of her mouth and when they at last pulled apart, he gave her a strange look.

"You...taste...unlike anythin' I've ever tasted before," he gasped.

"Well," she laughed. "There's a first time for everything, hmmm?"

"Aye," he grunted as he slid his hands along the top of her heavy velvet skirt, down to the lacy hem. "Indeed, and it's past high time we tread some new ground here."

He pushed her skirt up over her knees and groaned a little at the sight he beheld. She wore tall knee-high black Spanish leather boots, the dark color of which made the soft and already pale skin of her thighs seem all that much lighter in the fireplace's flickering orange glow. His eyes skated up the length of her thighs, and he felt himself harden at the prospect of exploring the richness of her body. He bent his head low and ran his open hand along the inside of one of her thighs, his hand venturing beyond where his eyes could see. Her skin was warm, very warm, and he felt a tingling sensation in his fingertips as he pressed her skirt—and the delicious black lace-edged silk slip she wore beneath it—farther up her legs, over the curve of her kneecaps, and towards her waist.

His breath caught in his throat as he beheld the sight he had not quite expected. Her body, her glorious, glistening sex, lay bare before him, and suddenly he realized that, however hard he had thought he'd as he'd slithered his hand up the inside of her thigh, he was now much, _much _harder now, painfully so. He moved his hand up to the crook where her thigh and hip met, then turned his hand and brushed the flat of his closed fist across the damp curls between her legs. He grinned as she sucked a hard, swift breath between her teeth.

"You want for somethin' there, fair lass?" he asked, the teasing lilt clear in his voice. "Are ya?"

"Teasing is not nice," she muttered. "Not nice at all."

"I'm just fulfillin' your words, lass," he chided her gently. "Remember? You said there'd be beggin' tonight before we were done."

"As I recall," she groaned as he rubbed his hands up and down her legs in a way that made her shiver with each pass. "I told you that _you'd _be the one begging before the night was over."

"Oh, aye?" he grinned lasciviously. "I must've forgot that bit," he chuckled, although the look on his face made it clear that there was no such truth in his claim. Licking his lips, he tilted his head as he said, "You're a very naughty, naughty woman to be goin' around town tonight without any knickers on, don't you know it. Very naughty, indeed―not that I don't appreciate that in a woman, because I do. But, what? Is it that after three hundred years, you're still not used to the current fashions in women's undergarments? You still adhere to the old-fashioned ways?"

She could only manage a half-laugh as she writhed slightly under his touch. "I do as I wish," she moaned. "In this...as in all things..."

"Mmmmm-hmmm," he murmured. "I just bet you do."

He snickered at her response, then lowered himself back to the rug to position his face between her legs. His nostrils filled with the musky smell of her desire, and the scent nearly drove him mad. "Damn, woman," he hissed. "You smell incredible. Like sex. Like pure, hot, unadulterated, lustful fuckin'. The best kind." He licked his lips, then added thoughtfully. "I bet you taste even better." He leaned in and brushed his nose across the cleft between her legs, but for a moment made no further move. His mouth began to water as the smell of her drove him nearly mad in anticipation of what she would taste like. He knew the smell of her would only become more and more intense as he worked her over, and that before he was done with her, the whole room would reek from their fucking...and he wanted that. He wanted to take her, to possess her...all of her. And more than anything he wanted her to give herself to him...willingly. "You ready to feel how it is to be fucked by me, after all the hours you and Darla have spent talkin' about it? I assure you it'll be more fun doin' it than talkin' about doin' it."

"Ahhhh," she groaned as she felt his warm puffs of breath on her making her arch her back up off the rug. "Oh, fuck—"

"In due time," he whispered, well aware that his warm breath on her hot, wet folds would send a jolt of sensation coursing through her as he positioned her legs gently so that they rested on the outside of each one of his shoulders. Once she was settled and he leaned in, he felt her thighs tighten around his bare shoulders, then fall open again, and he grinned in supreme satisfaction. "All in due time, you impatient, impertinent wench. I have a debt to repay you. I presume you want more for me than to service you like some stud horse."

"You forget, sweetness," she murmured as he lifted his head to look at her. "I already know more about you than I think you think I do. If I'd only wanted to be serviced like some broodmare, I would've gone to far less trouble than it took to find and bring you here, so no. I always assumed there'd be more to this fucking than, well, just the conventional fucking."

He stared at her for a minute as he wondered exactly the nature of her acquaintance with Darla and, more interesting to him, what Darla might have told Brennan about him. He blinked away the thought and took a breath, his balls tightening as his nostrils once more filled with the musky smell of her. He began to trail a series of kisses from one end of her thigh to the other.

"This damn dress in the way as it is makes that last bit quite difficult to do, lass," he observed with more than a note of annoyance clear in his voice when he reached her knee and pulled away from her.

Pointing vaguely at the table, she half-heartedly gestured. "The dagger. Get it."

He raised his eyebrows in surprise, then stood up, stumbling over to the table—his natural coordination being somewhat impaired by the hard-on that was pressing quite uncomfortably against his gray wool trousers.

"And, while you're at it, lose those trousers, huh?" she called to him.

He looked down at the jeweled dagger. "I should've known that you'd be this way," he said with a snide laugh. "Makin' me do all the work, undressin' you, and undressin' me. You're used to havin' things done for you, aye? Well, worry you not, lass—you'll be havin' things done to you alright...wickedly pleasurable things that only require you to lay right there and not worry 'bout a thing except for spreadin' those delicious legs of yours."

He bent over and, realizing in that moment that he had no idea where his shoes or stockings had gone to, unbuttoned his gray herringbone trousers which, his braces having been rolled off his shoulders earlier, hung low and loose on his narrow hips. His nostrils flared as he slid the medium-weight wool trousers over his hips and down his thighs, as he could smell his own sweat, which had soaked through the crotch, thighs and waistband of the fabric during the course of the two bare-fisted bouts he'd fought that night—never mind in the course of his interactions with Brennan since coming to his senses earlier. The fabric, still a bit sweat-damp after the couple of hours since he'd won his fight against Monroe, felt a bit scratchy as it slid over his thighs and fell over his knees. It was then he sniffed and smelled it, more faintly than his sweat. He chuckled quietly as he stepped out of his trousers and spied a couple of penny-sized bloodstains near the seam on the right side. He knew by the smell of it that it wasn't his blood. It was Monroe's. He smiled in satisfaction at having drawn another man's blood that night, and more so, that he had done so in front of the woman behind him, who waited with baited breath for him to return to her.

He stepped out of his trousers and turned around, standing there in front of the table, naked, before he grabbed the silver-handled steel blade and turned it over in his hand as he walked back over towards where she lay by the fire, a narrow-eyed look on her face.

When he returned, she sat up, using her arms to brace herself as her legs remained half bent in wait for him. Tilting her head, her eyes held fast to his prominent, twitching arousal as she licked her lips in anticipation. After a minute or two, she came to her senses once more and said, "I assume I can trust you to finish the job you've started with my bodice and cut the rest of this damn dress and corset away without nicking me?"

"Aye," he said, an odd lilt to his voice as he considered that, for all the women he'd had in a hundred twenty years, he'd ripped more than his fair share of bodices, but had never actually sliced one off with a knife, never mind with a witch's ceremonial dagger―especially at her invitation to defrock her as such. He twirled the dagger in his hand for a moment, then, holding her dress away from her tender skin with his left hand, held the weapon firmly in his right as he pressed the blade against the fabric. After a moment, and a certain adjustment of the pitch of the blade, the fabric began to give, and within seconds, began to tear away a pleasing sound again that excited them both as the _riiippppp _of the tearing fabric reverberated in the room and only served to inflame them more. "It's such a pity, really," he said with a smile. "'Twas such a pretty wee dress. I love red velvet. The color and the feel of it, but―" He winked and added, "I'm quite sure you'll look quite incredible without any dress at all."

"Off," she ordered him, stilling herself as best she could—a true challenge given how she felt as if she was about to jump out of her skin at the mere anticipation of him touching her bare skin with his hands. "Be as enthusiastic as I know you claim to be, Angelus. Strip me."

"What?" he grunted, then a look of understanding flashed across his face as he set the dagger aside, then reached for her, peeling the ruined dress away from her body and tossing it haphazardly aside. He then picked up the dagger again and threaded his fingers underneath the laces that held her corset snug, pulled the laces away from Brennan's tender skin and deftly cut them, reveling in the ripping sound the knife made as it sliced through the black satin. He then moved around to the other side of her body, pausing to brush the back of his hand against the soft skin under her arm before slicing away the offending laces on that side of her corset. "Hmmm," he mumbled. "I assume you don't resort to such drastic measures to get out of your clothes at the end of the day." He set the dagger to the side and, yanking the front of the corset away from her, smiled evilly as her breasts finally bounced free of their constraints. "Hmmm, yes," he grinned. "Aye, you must be so desperate with want of me that you can't think straight enough to undress yourself. S'alright, though, 'cause I have to confess, while yours is hardly the first bodice I've ripped, it's sure as hell the first one I've had to cut off a woman." He stopped and gave her a half-leer as he said, "And just in case you're wonderin', it's fuckin' sexy as all hell, lass."

"Mmmm," she murmured, reaching behind her and tossing away the back half of her ruined corset. "Better. Yes. That _is_ better—much better." She looked into his eyes and watched them dart around her now-naked form, and she felt a pulse of warm wetness between her legs as they once again fell open in anticipation.

"May I, mi'lady?" he asked, jerking his head in the direction of her damp, glistening curls. "Or do you have more preliminaries to which you'd like to first attend?"

"I'm not sure how Darla does this," Brennan muttered. "But, I'm not in need of fulfilling any mother or teacher fantasies. I assume you know how to fuck me. So, if you do, I think I'd like it very much if you'd just get to the sport of fucking me, ehhh?"

Angelus grinned and flashed his eyebrows. "So," he said, a feral edge to his brogue. "You don't want to find out how good a vampire's tongue is? You just want me to fuck you? Not that I have a problem with that approach, I just want to make sure that you feel I'm duly makin' good on the debt I owe you." He laughed at his own quip.

"You can fuck with a tongue just as easily as you can with your cock," she told him with an arched eyebrow. "And you'll be doing both before we're done here this night. I don't particularly care which you chose to start with as long as you start already."

"Huh," he chuckled. "Well, since I don't particularly care for the taste of my own come, and because there's no way I'm pullin' my dick out of you without comin' inside of you, let's see about playin' a bit of mouth music for you, my fair lass, before we get to the main movement of this wee symphony of ours. I trust that will suit your intentions well enough." He didn't wait for her reply before moving in and, peeling apart her outer folds with his thumbs, laying open her raw, swollen sex. He looked at her flesh for a moment, admiring how deliciously wet she had become, then a firm tugging sensation in his own groin reminded him that it was best for all involved that he dispense with the preliminaries and get straight to work.

He began by swiping his tongue up one side of her folds and then down again the other side, taking care not to let his tongue glance against her swollen clit or her creamy opening. He felt her thigh muscles tense against his forearms at the contact, and he chuckled softly. His laughter and the warm puff of breath from his mouth elicited a moan from her, and at hearing her low, husky voice murmur again, he shook his head and dove in again. He rimmed the firm, wet edge of her opening with his tongue, and hissed at the way she tasted, so sweet and tangy, better than any other woman whose sex he'd tasted—which, given a hundred years of debauchery, was quite a good number of women. As he rolled her sweet cream over his tongue, he felt his arousal brush against the rug beneath him, and he hissed at the sensation. He was so hard, and his balls ached so painfully for want of her. It was at that moment that he realized it—that, except for Darla, he had never responded this way to another woman who had given herself to him willingly, and that fact, that prospect, both puzzled and excited him.

"You taste incredible," he murmured, raising his head a little so that she could hear his words before lowering his mouth once more to work over her tender flesh. "So good."

Angelus rimmed her a couple of more times before bringing his tongue up to her most sensitive parts, closing his lips around her clit and sucking gently before letting go again, wiping it once, then twice with the flat of his tongue before returning his attention to her opening below. He pressed his tongue into her, experimentally at first, then more deeply as he squeezed his eyes shut, so intense was the taste of her, his mind clouded by the all-encompassing scent of want that emanated from her. He twirled his tongue inside of her, pulling away for a few moments before penetrating her again. Her back arched, bringing her hard, swollen clit in contact with his lips again, and he withdrew his tongue, seizing the opportunity to attack her most sensitive flesh with the hope that he could drive her over the edge—not because he had any particular desire to put her out of her misery, but rather so that he could put himself that much closer to finding his own release, which his aching balls reminded him was not anywhere near within his reach..

"Oh, God," Brennan moaned, arching her back again as he closed his lips around her clit and sucked hard. "Ohhhh...ohhhhh..."

"Mmmmm," he grunted, humming against her swollen flesh and pushing her into a irretrievable spiral of pleasure. "You taste so damn good," he said, his voice low and almost raspy with desire for her. "I can feel you," he added. "I can smell it—in more ways than one. You're almost there. You're a woman who takes what she wants. That's why you brought me here, wasn't it? And that's why I've brought you here for the very reason that I _want_ you to take this pleasure that I can give you. I gave this to you. I want you to take it. So take it. _Do it_. Take it. Take your pleasure."

She twisted against him, squeezing both her eyes and her fists tight. She could feel his lips and tongue skimming over her clit and her slit, and she felt a gush of warmth pulse in her each time he dived deeper into her. Still, she fought against it, as she felt a familiar building towards what she knew was going to be a hard and fast release when she finally came. Her toes curled a bit as she felt the throbbing in her pelvis spread towards her stomach so that her heart was pounding in her ears and she was only vaguely aware of how sweaty and warm her skin had become. When he said something, she barely registered the meaning of the words...aside from the fact that the tone was slightly goading in nature.

"Take it," he said again, swiping his tongue in a long, slow stroke up from the bottom of her opening all the way up to the hard, swollen nub above. "Come on, lass. I want to feel you shatter against my tongue, woman. I want to feel you fallin' apart..." He wiggled his tongue against her opening. "Right now."

"Fuck—" she groaned. "Oh, oohhhhh, _fuck_."

"That's it," he whispered. "Yes." He gave her clit one more hard, firm suck, then pulled away slightly, diddling it with the point of his tongue before giving her another, languid swipe with the broad flat of his warm tongue, which was slick with the combination of her own wetness and his saliva.

When she felt his tongue go from her clit down to her wet rim, and he thrust it forward in a rather sharp thrust, that was when she arched her back a final time and felt herself begin to come. The orgasm shook her whole body as she stiffened once and then fell back into the soft fibers of the oriental rug. Slowly, she relaxed the clenched fists that she'd been holding so hard that her well-manicured nails had cut small divots into the soft flesh of her palms. Eventually, she blinked open her eyes and met a rather predatory, but expectant brown-eyed stare.

"That...was," she eventually told him, gasping for breath as she struggled to piece the proper words together. "That wasn't...too...bad."

"Not bad?" he snorted. "Nonsense. You came like a runaway steam engine, woman. Hot, hard, fast, and with a momentum that no force between heaven, earth, or hell could stop." As he brought himself off the floor, stalking towards her on all fours, he felt his skin burn hot, flushing his face and reddening the tips of his ears, at the thought of what he had just done to her. "That's surely one of the most pleasin' things I've ever seen in my life, lass," he admitted, "seein' you break like that for me—because of me. Amazin'."

"Hmmm," she chuckled as she sat up and used her arms to reach for him. Pulling him down on top of her, she whispered, "Best we be on the safe side and see if we can do it again all that much sooner than if you think you can do better."

"Mmmmm, no," he said with a slight shake of his head. Brennan's eyebrow arched as a look of annoyance crossed her face at his words. Amused at her response, he quickly amended, "At least, not with my mouth."

"I didn't pull you down on top of me to feel you tongue my rim again," she murmured at him as she brushed her erect nipples across the broad expanse of his chest. "Fuck me."

"Aye," he said, sucking in a swift breath at feeling her hard nubs drag across his skin. He thought of reaching down and touching her breasts again when a firm clenching sensation in his gut reminded him that he hadn't far to go, but that he needed one thing more than any other—to bury himself inside of her, as quickly and deeply as he could. "Then we have an understandin', then."

She shifted her hips as she thrust up into him. "Yes, I think we do."

He propped himself up on his hands, supporting his weight with one hand as the other reached down between his legs and lined himself up with her creamy opening. "So good," he murmured as he swiped his tip along her raw, wet flesh. "So very, _very _good," he groaned at the sensation, smiling at seeing her eyes close and her head loll to the side. "You want me, lass?" he asked, stroking his glistening tip over her clit. "I think you do."

He teased her once more with a circular stroke around the rim of her opening before he drew his hips back slightly and pressed into her, slowly at first and then more firmly as he felt her hot wet folds part for him. His brow creased at feeling how tight she was, and he wondered if magic was at work to keep a beautiful, experienced woman such as this as tight as the tightest virgin for three hundred-odd years. He took a breath and pressed all the way into her, burying himself to the hilt before withdrawing again.

"You like the way I feel?" he asked, not waiting for a response before drilling into her again. "Mmmmm," he murmured, pulling out again and hesitating for a moment before changing tacks and pressing into her again, this time as slowly as he himself could bear.

Lifting a leg, she wrapped it around his waist as she shifted slightly under him to give them a better angle of penetration with which they could both work. As he pressed into her tortuous inch by slow, tortuous inch, Brennan felt the familiar pulse begin to flutter again.

"Ohhhh," she moaned against him with every excruciatingly pleasurable move he made in her. "Ahhh, oohhhh, oohhhh."

"You like the way my cock feels in you, wench?" he asked with a grunt, punctuating his question with a hard thrust until he was buried balls-deep into her.

"And you like the way my wet walls are drawing you in tighter and deeper and hotter as if I'm pushing you back towards hell itself, don't you, sweetness?" she mumbled back.

"You're fuckin' right I do," he said. He drew his hips back, withdrawing from her until all that remained in her was his swollen tip, then, looking down at her with a hard stare, he slammed into her, hard and fast, as deeply as he could. "Your cunt feels so tight and hot, it's incredible. Hot as hell itself, but far more pleasing. Most definitely more pleasing...and more satisfying."

He rolled his hips back back and jerked into her, establishing a relatively consistent, if somewhat ragged, rhythm as he pounded into her. She reached up and scratched his triceps to get his attention as she muttered, "Move faster. Move harder. _Now._"

"Harder?" he gasped. "Faster?" He opened his eyes and leveled his gaze at her. "Have you never been fucked by a vampire? Do you have any idea what you're askin' for? I'm no ordinary man."

"Coyness doesn't suit you, sweetness," she moaned into his shoulder as she took her nails and scratched him again to get his attention to let him know she didn't like being gainsaid. "Give me what I want. Now. _Do it._"

"Huh," he grunted, leaning forward and putting more of his weight into his hands as he gritted his teeth. "I really should have guessed that the woman who had me clubbed over the head and strung up in her own sittin' room would be bossy even when I've got my cock in her. Figures, aye?" he laughed sarcastically.

Angelus tucked his chin against his chest and took a deep breath. He felt his nostrils flare as he began to ram even harder into her and he knew he was losing it as a burning sensation flashed through him. His brow crunched into a hard ridge and his teeth flashed, his eyes glowing bright yellow as the demon in him howled, and his olive skin became dotted with goosebumps. Empowered this way, he surged into her, throwing his entire body weight and every ounce of the considerable strength he had into his sharp, relentless strokes. He plowed into her with abandon, the blood roaring in his ears as he growled, pounding his cock into her, trying to tear her open and stretch her out with each stroke. "You," he grunted. "You...ohhh..._ohhhhhh_..."

For her part, Brennan tried to meet each of his strokes with one of her own, but his strokes were so powerful, so deep and so insistent, though she moved vigorously to match him, it seemed as if her own efforts were relatively futile. His strength, power and speed being what it was, the control seemed to be entirely his. And, in between her rising moans, she bit down on the inside of her lip lest she admit that she was in fact not in control, she did what she could to control the only thing she could—the time and manner of her own release.

As Brennan felt him thrust into her again and again, she could feel a burning building with each movement. But this time it wasn't something that she felt because of her impending orgasm. Even though she couldn't see him, when his eyes flashed yellow, her body began to tingle in response. A small cocoon of blue electricity began to crackle around them as she pressed her leg tighter around him and finally began to meet each thrust he made as they came into sync in the last couple of minutes before they both climaxed. It wasn't long before her own eyes snapped open, and pulsed with the same bright blue electricity that she earlier used to bind Angelus when he'd attempted to attack her. As an unintelligible string of words fell from her lips in a guttural cry, she felt herself spend in a bright explosion of light that she wondered if was something that had only happened to blind her for a moment as her orgasm crested and bowed, and she ecstatically rode it to its final and natural conclusion.

Angelus struggled to focus his mind, torn as it was amid a swirl of competing and completely inundating sensations, and when his eyes filled with a faint blue light, he was sure that it was the harbinger of the hardest, most mind-ripping orgasm he'd ever had. He closed his eyes but still the blue light flickered at him, dotting the insides of his eyelids as he narrowed his thoughts, focusing everything on a single point—the hot, wet sheath he was swallowed up into—and the way he drove himself there, but with each pounding stroke, as he felt her silky, wet folds tighten around him, the threads of his focused self-control rapidly frayed, and he knew he was falling into a spinning gyre that was sucking him towards an inescapable release. He heard her cry out, her voice seeming forming words, but which made no sense at all, and as he felt her body flutter around him as she shattered, he, too, broke, his mouth falling open and a cool blue light washing over him, a long, low groan escaping his lips before he called her name.

"Ohhh...ohhhhh, fuck...ohhhh, damn...Brennan!"

His rough, contorted features tightened then relaxed completely as his body did the same, riding out the raw sensation of his release as his hot seed pulsed deep into her.

When he collapsed on top of her, she eventually blinked several times as her lips twisted into another curve of wicked pleasure. She gently pushed him off of her and then rolled away, struggling to sit up as the world still slightly spun before her. Angelus rolled off of her, wincing slightly at the sensation of slipping out of her and feeling the relative cool air of the room on his wet, softening flesh, but struggled onto his side as he looked over at her.

"Well," she finally said as she smacked her lips together.

"Aye," he said, somehow managing to speak in the wake of the hardest orgasm he could remember ever having. "You liked that, ehhhh? You liked me? Like the feel of me and what I did to you? Mmmm?"

Reaching forward, she leaned towards him as she gestured with her finger. "I liked it well enough to consider your debt to me paid as respects the wager I couldn't fully collect on at the boxing match."

"Good, then," he said with a laugh. "As my usual evenin' companion is still to be out of the country for another week yet, I might be doing a bit more boxin' to amuse myself. Does that mean I need to somehow pay it forward? I may be a selfish man, but I'm no fool, and might be willing to make certain arrangements with you that I may be able to proceed with my recreations unimpeded, and we make certain that you lose no more money and maybe have a spot of fun now and again?" His brown eyes twinkled as he flashed an eyebrow. "You know, since I don't want to find myself trussed up again like a side of fine aged Irish beef."

"A definite possibility," she told him with a firm nod. "Especially because we still need to discuss how you're going to make amends for my dress," she said with an evil laugh.

"Amends?" Angelus rolled his eyes. "I see how it is with you," he said. "I fuck you senseless after cuttin' off your own delicious finery at your own damn request, and now _I'm _the one who has to pay to buy you another one?" He tilted his head and then gave her a saucy look as he offered, "How 'bout I just fuck you again, once or twice, and we call it even?"

She leaned in and cut him off as she shoved her tongue in his mouth. They kissed for a moment and then she pulled away and gave him a sharp leer as she said, "Not once or twice." She smiled. "That won't do at all. I'm afraid I'll have a greater need of your sweetness than I can be afforded into just one or two more gos. But, I think that you might enjoy that as much as I, yes? Because, of course, I want to make this an enjoyable and mutually beneficial arrangement for both of us."

He narrowed his eyes and thought about what Darla had told him once. _You can have anyone you want. _He knew, regardless of where Darla was, he wanted _this_ woman, and as long as this woman would have him, he would have her, as often as he could. "Aye, well," he shrugged. "As long as there's no tyin' me up, I'll gladly consider it." He paused for a moment and smiled. "If, on the other hand, you're interested in bein' tied up yourself, I'm not opposed to helpin' you out with that."

"Hmmm," she chuckled as she considered his offer. "I suppose I'll have to take that under advisement then."

"But I must tell you," he said, taking his place beside her on the Persian carpet. "The whole gettin' tied up thing—I'm not really into it...that is, bein' the one who gets tied up, you know."

Brennan smirked, but said nothing as she surveyed his sweat-slicked form as he reclined on the rug next to her. For a couple of minutes, a silence hung between them as they each resided in their comfort of their own thoughts, or—more likely—enjoyed a few minutes of thoughtless satisfaction. Finally, Angelus turned to her and broke the silence between them.

"What are you?" he asked her with a quirked brow. "You said...earlier..." He smirked as he rehashed in his mind the incredible encounter they'd just had. "Aye, before—you said that you'd gone toe to toe with greater devils than me." He watched her pale blue eyes, dismissing the thought that flashed through his mind of the bluish light that seemed to wash over him in the moments just before and as he broke, and found himself drawn into them again. He'd spent the last hundred years in Darla's arms, but this woman, she fascinated him in a way his sire never had. He blinked, then added, "Never mind that I'm really a demon, not a devil, but that said—my question remains. What are you, and what devils have you tangled with?"

Brennan was quiet for a moment and then said softly, "I was born in London...near St. Mary-le-Bow Church in Cheapside during the reign of King Henry VIII. It was a time very different from now...even different from the Ireland of your birth. I made my living as a midwife and herbalist, and suffice to say in such a tumultuous time of religious upheaval...I did what I had to do to survive. I gained what power I could, and struck what deals I needed to with...well, as I said, more evil devils or demons than you." She paused and then broke out into a self-satisfied grin. "And, so, sweetness, to answer your question—what am I? A human...mostly. As for the details, I think you'll have to earn more of those by way of something more than what I've already given you for your very fine efforts of one evening of very satisfying sport between us."

"Hmmm, so is what you're sayin' that now that I've paid my debt," he said, "now, I have to earn access to the lofty archives of your illustrious past? With the price of admission being the sort of epic fuckin' I've given you tonight?"

"There's always a cost, sweetness," she told his with a throaty chuckle. "Surely you know that...especially where one's curiosity is concerned."

He shrugged. "Fair enough, I s'pose. There are worse ways to buy one's way in, huh?" He smiled as he looked at her face, her cheeks, shoulders and chest still deeply flushed from her release. "I do, however, have one recommendation," he said. "If I should be so bold as to give you advice, though you say you're my elder by two hundred years."

"And what might that be?" she asked, her voice edged with amused suspicion, replete enough that she allowed his suggestion that she might not, in fact, be as old as she claimed fall away, unattended to, noted only by a fleeting smile.

"Never," he growled through his smile. "Never _ever _bet against me." His voice was firm and suddenly almost devoid of the laughter she'd heard in it most of the evening. "You'll always, _always _lose, lass. And, you, mi'lady, are perhaps the most lethal woman ever born to the human race, but I—I, Angelus—am the most lethal man, human or otherwise, that you will _ever _meet. And no mere human will ever best me in the ring. I've taken out entire bands of highwaymen who mistook me on the road." He scrunched his nose and made a face. "They tasted like shite, to be honest, but when you're travelin' you sometimes can't be too picky about your supper. In any case, I saved the sheriff the effort of tying their nooses." He grinned and flashed his eyebrows. "So, don't ever lay a wager against me. Bet wisely."

She considered his words and then shrugged. "Duly noted, Angelus. Duly noted." She stopped, grinning at him as she said, "Now, of course, as someone who is your elder by more than two hundred years, I have some advice for you...or counsel if you will."

"Oh, aye?" he blinked. "And what's that?"

Gesturing with her head in the direction of the back part of the room she said, "It's still some hours until dawn. I assume you fed before your fight. So, unless you have a pending need to slack your thirst for blood, I would say that you might find it pleasing to slack another thirst...in my bed...through that door yonder...which is equipped with heavy draperies and shutters to keep the sun out should you tarry over long. I can make it worth your while, I think...don't you?"

"Mmmmm," he said as he considered her offer and nodded with a lecherous grin as he smiled at her. "Lead the way, lass. Lead the way."

* * *

~The End~

* * *

**A/N2- **_So, there you have it. Dharmasera's first foray into crossover!fic, and the ol' _**dharmamonkey**'_s_ _first time going for a swim outside of the Bones pool. And, perhaps, our first standalone oneshot. (Yeah, we know, it was a long oneshot. But we don't do short little ditties, do we? If you want those, well, you might be waiting a while for us to figure out how to be that terse, LOL.)_

_We hope you liked that. But we're never really sure, sitting on this side of the looking-glass, so we would be keenly interested in hearing from you folks._

_By the way, for those of you who are Angel readers and aren't familiar with our Bones work, assuming you're interested in seeing what we do with Booth and Brennan (insert lascivious snickering here) , we encourage you to jog on over and check out our (_**Lesera128 **_and _**dharmamonkey**_) respective FFnet profiles. We collaborate together quite a bit, and have written some very sexy, often very angsty, and frequently fairly amusing stuff. We also have a substantial body of solo work. So, check us out, if you dug this. If not, thanks for reading anyway._

_So, please, tell us what you think either way. Leave us a review. Just go ahead and click that sparkly blue button down there and let us know if this little ditty did it for ya. _

_Come on, don't be coy. You know you want to. Yes, that button there. Mmm-hmmm. That's the one._

_Thanks!_


End file.
